


It sure isn't Afghanistan

by SpaderTre



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Fictional dimension interaction, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-01-10 20:39:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1164295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaderTre/pseuds/SpaderTre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are American soldiers in a country that hasn’t been in a war for 199 years. Claiming to be in Iraq.”<br/>“I’m not claiming we’re in Iraq now, only that we were there very recently. This isn’t Iraq.”<br/>“I’m very glad you believe me there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You just can't fucking win

####  _Preface_

"We should've shot that dog," came from the other side of the Humvee.  
"Shut up, Trombley," Colbert said without looking over.  
"Nah, Trombley, if we'd shot that dog we would be here in the middle of nowhere without anyone explaining what's going on." Person was still fiddling in the driver's seat. "Now everything is crystal clear, right Sergeant? We've just travelled in time. And space. As you do, you know –"  
"Shut up, Person."  
Wright chuckled in his seat.  
"You think this is funny?" Trombley asked.  
Wright wiped his brow: "Trombley, sometimes life hands you situation where you gotta choose between crying and laughing."  
Trombley turned his eyes back to his sector without dignifying that with an answer.  
"You afraid of crying, Reporter?" Person asked and that's when Colbert gave up and left the vehicle.

Gunny Wynn sat in the passenger seat of the HQ Humvee by the unnervingly quiet radios.  
"Any news?" Colbert leaned on the open door.  
"Not since the first report," Wynn said. "Relax, Brad. It's not like he'll magically disappear or something."  
Colbert shot him a look stating _not funny_ clear as if written in pen. Wynn laughed.  
"Come on. It's too absurd to do anything else."  


* * *

#### Fifteen hours earlier:

The sounds of war are multifaceted but distinct. That's why you can get a feeling of dread from nowhere in a quiet suburban street at noon on a Sunday. Your mind has been trained to react on a millisecond, and among all the distant noises you must instantly recognize the warning signs. Sometimes they're subtle. The click of a round going into a chamber can echo, both in silence and non-silence. The sound of an approaching RPG is humming, coming closer. Running feet. But there are loud ones too. Artillery hits. Aircrafts. An M16 is deafening when fired over your head. War is sensory overload when you need your senses the most.  
This sound was deafening in the way that not only hurt your ears but shakes your chest and bones. It made the world wobbly.  
Fick opened his eyes without realizing he had closed them. Maybe it was an instinct, a reaction to the sound. The darkness was massive outside the truck.  
"Holy shit," came from Christeson at the back.  
"Ey! What's going on?" Stafford was screaming in the silence, having lost sense of how loud his own voice came out.  
"Out of the vehicle," Wynn ordered and Fick followed without questioning. He grabbed the radios and made for the side of the road, slamming down face first. In front of him he could see Pappy's team doing the same thing.  
The radio went hot. That was, one of them did.  
With the RTOs and team leaders messaging back and forth, Fick tried every channel available. Pressing the buttons and cursing the equipment made no difference. No response came from Company or Battalion. He was so busy his situational awareness shrank away and he did not realize for several seconds that his MOPP-suit was dragging through wet grass.

Fick moved up the line with Wynn on his heels. The Marines were putting out a perimeter without moving the victors. Reyes, Espera, Lilley, they all had questions Fick stubbornly ignored.  
He kneeled next to Colbert who was covering the road ahead, partly taking cover by a rock the size of a small car.  
"What the fuck is going on, sir?"  
"I don't know. No one answers on Battalion coms. Have you had visuals of Bravo Three?"  
"Negative, sir. All I see is fucking forest."  
"Goddamn it." Colbert threw a glance at his cursing CO before Fick regained his bearings. "All right, push forward to conduct a foot patrol to see where the -"  
"No one has driven on this road for ages. It's fucking grass on it."  
Fick looked down. His tight jaws somehow got tighter. Colbert made his final statement:  
"Sir, I have no idea where Bravo Three is but they sure as hell have not passed this road."  
He locked eyes with Fick and the non-verbal part was easy to read: _We're in deep shit._

"Hitman Two, this is Two Three. The grass behind our vehicle is untouched."  
"Solid copy." Fick released the send button.  
"Not so solid copy," Person said out loud, still offering his opinion to his surroundings unpaid. "No tracks behind us, no tracks in front. How the hell did we end up here? In a fucking forest, which there aren't too many of in the God forsaken desert we've been driving -"  
"Person!" Colbert raised his voice.  
"Just pointing out the obvious."  
"Person," Fick ordered. "Get a connection with any other fucking unit. I don't care how you do it, just make it happen. Now." He stood up. "Brad, keep you eyes on the road."  
With that he made his way back with Wynn in tow.  
"Mike, tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me that I'll wake up any second with McGraw screaming in my ear, calling in enemy fire from a palm tree."  
But Wynn just shook his head.  



	2. How exactly did this happen?

"Hitman Two, this is Two Three. Stand by for sitrep."  
Lovell's team reported to the men assembled around Fick's hood. Dawn had come a few hours earlier but no explanation had dawned with the returning light.  
"Send it."  
"We've located two buildings. Proximately three clicks north-west. Wooden houses. Five times eight meters and three times six meters respectively. No lights, painted red. Well-done garden, a road leading east."  
"Any activity?"  
"Negative. We'll observe it until other orders."  
"Copy that."  
"Wooden houses?" Colbert asked.  
"We haven't seen a lot of well-done gardens so far," Espera pointed out.  
"Or gardens at all," Bryan said.  
Fick was still looking at the map.  
"We could be here." He pointed as Espera shook his head.  
"'Whenever the map and reality don't match up, always follow the map.' A good old proverb of the USMC."  
"Not helping, Poke," Colbert warned.  
"What does you beloved BFT say?" Espera replied.  
"Out of mapped area. The coordinates are just going crazy."  
"Crazy how?" Fick asked.  
"According to them we have moved some 2000 miles northwest."  
"Where would that put us?"  
"58' North 14' East? Europe somewhere, I suppose." Colbert winced. "Sir, you are not seriously -"  
"58' North is fucking Alaska," Espera said.  
"North of Europe then. Anyway, sir, you -"  
"Seriously, Brad? I'm considering anything at the moment."  
"Ey! Incoming!" Stafford came running up.  
The meeting dispersed and within seconds the teams held their positions.

First came the voice. A woman's, in an incomprehensible language that didn't sound anything like Arabic, which wasn't too surprising as nothing in the immediate surroundings looked Arabic either. Then footsteps were heard. And finally the happy barking of a large dog.  
Stafford had taken cover on the north side of the road, and the woman was approaching from the forest, apparently talking to the dog. The dog came into sight first, som eighty pound retriever, black as night. It suddenly noticed the smell of Marines (no fucking wonder) and started growling.  
The woman didn't seemed to be particularly disturbed; she just kept talking to it and moving forward. When the dog got eyes on Stafford it stopped blank, staring right at him. For half a second Stafford stared back and then the dog started barking. The woman walked up to it and that's when she discovered Stafford.  
"Oh."  
Stafford didn't lift his weapon. She wasn't armed, and she was nothing like the females they had encountered this last few weeks. She was somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties, wearing low gumboots, too-worn jeans and a bright orange rain coat. She said something with concern in her voice. One of the words that came out could have been 'okay' but Stafford wasn't sure and didn't know how to react. She still hadn't discovered the rest of the unit, standing still and ready to - well, ready to do something as soon as they could understand the situation.  
"Are you alright?" she suddenly asked, switching to English.  
"I'm cool yo."  
"What are you doing here? Can I help you?" She had an accent, but it was not easy to place.  
Fick chose this moment to step forward.  
"Good day, Ms."  
"Hi." She looked around her, now getting eyes on more members of the platoon. The dog started barking again. She took a step back. "What's going on here?"  
"Don't be alarmed," Fick said, slowly walking forward.  
"Is there a reason for me to be?" she asked.  
"We need your help."  
Colbert made a sound of protest and she looked over. Their eyes met and he saw utter surprise there, surprise that slowly faded to confusion. She was about to say something, but halted herself and looked back to Fick.  
"Is this a joke?"  
"No, I can assure you that it isn't."  
"Well. What can I do for you?"  
"Can you tell us where we are?"  
"About four kilometers southeast of Vinna.  
"Of where?"  
"The forest of Tiveden? Närke? Örebro?"  
The names didn't tell him a thing and that was easy for her to see.  
"Do you even know that you are in Sweden?"  
Sweden? They looked at each other.  
"You know what Sweden is, right?"  
"Yes," Fick said.  
"So how did you end up here if you don't even know what country you're in?"  
"This is gonna sound bizarre, but I don't know."  
"Where did you think you were?"  
"Well, a couple of hours ago I knew I was in Iraq."  
She lifted both her eyebrows.  
"And what happened?"  
"We're not sure."  
"All right." She didn't seem convinced and no one blamed her. "Hang on, what did you do in Iraq?" she asked, eying their weapons.  
Fick hesitated, but finally said: "We are a part of the First Marine Division under orders from President Bush to conduct a military operation in Iraq."  
She frowned.  
"I might not have a clue about a lot about this, but the American President at the moment is Obama. Bush was years ago."  
"I'm sorry?"  
Marines were closing in, but Wynn waved them away.  
"You are American soldiers in a country that hasn't been in a war for 199 years. Claiming to be in Iraq."  
"I'm not claiming we're in Iraq now, only that we were there very recently. This isn't Iraq."  
"I'm very glad you believe me there."  
Person had ignored Wynn and his mouth slipped.  
"What country on Earth hasn't been in a war for 200 years?"  
"Ours," the woman said, clearly desperate to hold on to a subject she understood. "Well, we deployed troops to Afghanistan and Libya, but only as a part of ISAF or UN operations. I don't know if that counts. Otherwise we haven't been in a war since our French crown prince put us on the winning side in the Napoleon war. I guess they're gonna make a jubilee out of it next year."  
"French crown prince?" Person asked.  
"Leave it, corporal," Fick ordered without looking at him. "Who did you say was the President of the US?"  
"Barack Obama. A democrat. Honestly, how can you not know this? He was actually in Sweden last week - no, two weeks ago. Some stuff with Syria made him cancel his visit to Moscow, so he went to Stockholm instead. The whole city was closed down. Apparently the CIA classed Sweden as a high risk country since we've had twp ministers murdered in public areas the last thirty years. I'm sorry, you've got me nervous and I'm rambling." She seemed to force herself to breathe. "What's your story?"  
Fick shrugged. "I don't think you would believe it. I don't."  
"Is there anyone you would like to call?"  
"You've got a phone?"  
"Sure." She handed over her phone. "Just press 00 and the country code."  
He took it and inspected it.  
"I'm sorry, how do you -?" He handed it back.  
"You've never worked a Sony before? That's fine; the button is at the top." She pressed it for him, and scrolled down to the phone buttons. "Here."  
He pressed the touch pad very cautiously.  
She turned to her dog, leaving him space to talk, but couldn't help stealing a glance a Colbert. 

Fick came over, phone in hand.  
"Thank you."  
"Did you get any answers?"  
"Well, not really. Our American Camp thought it was a prank when I told them my name and position. I took the liberty to make two personal calls as well. One of the numbers was now used by another client and the other was disconnected. But then, who keeps their cell phone numbers for ten years?"  
She frowned.  
"You look unsatisfied?" he said.  
"Well, I figured it out, but how did you do it?"  
"The Napoleon War. You?"  
"The Iraqi invasion and the fact that you didn't know the name of your own president."  
"What was the date for you yesterday?"  
"Yesterday? September 14th, I think. You?"  
"March 30th."  
"Alright," Espera interrupted. "Can anyone tell me what's going on?"  
"I've been convinced that we've not only moved 2000 miles but also ten years. Forward," Fick said.  
The woman let out a short laugh.  
"Welcome to 2013. I'm Linn. What can I do for you?"  
There was an nervous sound from the Marines behind Fick.  
"Well," he said. "I suppose we've lost our objective."  
"You guys need a place to stay? Until you figured things out?"  
"That's kind, but there are twenty-four of us."  
"Oh? Then it might be a bit of a squeeze. I've only got 17 spare beds. But I'm sure I can find mattresses for the rest of you."  
"You'd do that?"  
"Come on, you can't stay in the middle of the forest." She threw another glance at Colbert. "This is absurd and I want to see how it ends."


	3. Love this shit

Fick was passing Colbert on this way to the hood of his Humvee when Colbert stepped forward to ask in a low voice:  
"Sir, are you sure about this?"  
Fick didn't stop:  
"Brad, what options do I have?" He reached the vehicle and called out: "TLs, round up."  
Espera, Lovell, and Patrick came over, followed by Bryan. Colbert came last, holding his distance. Fick looked on his map for one last time before tugging it away. The men stood quiet around him until Pappy broke the silence.  
"Sir, what's the plan?"  
"I'm gonna take her up on her offer." Fick looked all of them in the eye but Colbert. "I'll go with her and report as soon as I get my eyes on the place."  
"Damn it, sir," Bryan began. "Are you seriously considering that we dropped down in the fucking future?"  
"Tim, you've got a more plausible explanation?"  
"Most things are more plausible than this! She's a single person - and a fucking civilian."  
"We've got to check it out," Lovell said. "You saw the house too, Doc, and you see the forest we're standing in."  
Fick knew he should be grateful for the support, but he was eerily aware that Colbert was still quiet. He shouldn't need Colbert's opinion more than anyone else's, he really shouldn't. He couldn't lead the platoon without the consent and trust of either of his senior NCOs, and after more than a week in the field he knew that he had earned it. But he hadn't prepared for this.  
"If we magically moved into the future," Wynn said, "and mind you, I'm not saying that we did, but if we did, it's got to be a way back."  
"We dropped down here, in this spot," Pappy said. "Maybe it would be best not to leave it."  
"It's been fourteen hours and nothing's happened yet," Poke pointed out. "We'll go brick crazy sitting 'round here. Gotta do something."  
"What if something happens while people are away and the rest of us just drop back to normality?" Pappy asked.  
"That's why I'm going alone," Fick said.  
It got absolutely quiet. Poke and Lovell looked down. Fick held Bryan's gaze and felt Wynn's unvoiced disapproval beside him.  
That's when Colbert finally spoke.  
"Sir." Fick interrupted him, couldn't bear to hear more right know. He had made his choice and had to got through on it.  
"There is nothing to discuss. I'll take the radio and call back as soon as I have a sitrep. Mike, you take care of setting up a perimeter in a less palpable position."  
He walked off, leaving them in absolute silence.

A slow drizzling started as Fick grabbed the radio. Wynn met him behind the Humvee. The TLs had moved over to brief their teams, whether they approved or not. Stafford and Christeson were listening without making their presence noticed.  
"Nate, you can't do this."  
Fick attached the battery packs to the radio.  
"I can't send anyone else, can I?"  
"You're an experienced officer now. You know that you have to risk others to succeed in a mission."  
"What fucking mission, Mike? This is not an invasion of Iraq anymore. This is not a battleplan signed by our Commander in Chief."  
"And you're not alone here."  
"You've got Cara and the kids."  
"They know what I signed up for."  
"You did not sign up for this!"  
"None of us did, Nate." Wynn kept his voice low. "You can't take it all on yourself."  
"There is no danger here."  
"Beside the risk that we might be gone when you get back."  
"I'll take that risk." Fick shouldered the radio and jumped back to the ground.  
"That's not your decision," Wynn pointed up. "You didn't sign up for this anymore than the rest of us."  
"I'm the platoon commander. It is my decision." Fick handed over his M16. "See you."  
And with that he left his platoon behind and walked up to Linn, who stood waiting a few yards up the road from Colbert's Humvee, watching the scene. Fick didn't turn to look, but he couldn't help picturing Colbert's eyes following him.  
But maybe Colbert didn't look at all.  
"They don't look too happy about this," Linn said.  
Fick didn't look back.  
"None of us are happy with our present situation."  
"Sorry," she said as she started walking next to him. "This must be really confusing."  
"That's the least you could say." Fick managed half a smile. "But don't apologize. I just haven't slept for something like fifty hours. My social skills are a bit lacking at the moment."  
"Don't worry about it. Are you alright walking? There's another two kilometers to the house, but we'll be at road shortly. I could get the car."  
"I'll be fine. Just don't expect too much conversation."  
"No problem."  
The forest stood tall and green around them, even with the rain. It more hang in the air than fell down, making the dirt on Fick's face muddy. He tried to wipe his brow, but the state of his kevlar didn't help. The forest was pine on the left and spruce on the right. The thick cover of the spruces made it almost impossible to see far to the right. The spruces were taller and on the left there were few things growing under them that were taller than the moss. A few hundred meters up the road approached a clearing.  
The dog was running ahead of them, mostly lazily trotting along the road or among the pines on the left. Fick knew he wasn't keeping up his situational awareness when he found himself wondering about what the dog looked for in the ditch instead of focusing on his own mission. He had problems following his own thoughts, which in itself was confusing.  
"Do you mind if I call someone?" Linn suddenly asked.  
"To whom?"  
"My fiancée."  
"Why?"  
"Honestly? To make sure this isn't a prank."  
"I can't stop you, but - "  
"You prefer if I didn't?"  
"Yes. Well, actually, I prefer if there was someone I could call to tell me that this is a prank."  
She laughed. "If it's any help for you, I can make it in English."  
She pulled out the phone of her pocked and pushed the screen. Fick tried not to eye it too closely - it was very obviously not from even the latest line of fancy cellphones, as far as he knew - and it made his head spinn even faster.  
Instead of holding it to her ear, she held it out in front of her and suddenly a voice answered in what must be Swedish. It was a man's voice, and he sounded happy. The voices and music in the background, however, made it more than likely that he had had some drinks as well. _A drink_ , Fick thought. _A beer, a whiskey, I'll take anything right now._  
"Classy", Linn answered to whatever the voice said. "Can you put me on speaker?"  
"Sure. Hey guys, Linn wants to speak to you!"  
A chorus of even more distant voices started cheering.  
"Hi everyone! You're having a good time?"  
"Yeah! Jim knocked over three beers here!"  
"Yeah, Alexander told me. Sounds great!"  
The people in the other end cheered this too, and Fick wondered if he had ever been like this. He felt old. _Am I ten years older now?_ Linn shot him a look, while she kept talking with a smile in her voice.  
"I don't want to interrupt your evening, but can anyone of you remind him to call me first thing in the morning?"  
"I always call you!" the first voice said.  
"Are you alright, Linn?" another voice asked.  
"I'm all good. Take care, and enjoy your evening."  
"We will, as soon as Jim buys more beer!"  
"Good night, guys."  
She put the phone away.  
"That's okay?"  
"Yes. But - ?"  
"Why? Yeah, you'll understand that eventually."


	4. Stand by for a six-line

"Pappy, what the fuck is this shit?" Jack asked from up on the turret when Team Two's TL came back from the briefing.  
"Yeah, is the LT seriously believing this?" Brunmeier looked up from his seat. Chaffin next to him just made unapproaving noises.  
"Looked from the right perspective, our world is connected -"  
"Rudy, please."  
Reyes patted Patrick's shoulder.  
"It's gonna be alright, Pappy."  
"I wish I could believe you. Guys, we're on fifty percent watch. Rudy, Jacks, try to get some sleep. Chaffin, you're on the Mark-19."

* * *

The forest had opened up. Now they were walking in a rolling landscape where small patches of trees and bushes were surrounded by fields. The road was no more than a track for tractors and even so it seemed to be mostly undisturbed. Year-high trees, no more than shrubs, grew between the tracks.  
The sky was grey but the air felt easier to breathe out here. There were signs of habitation - houses and roads in the distance, and smoke rose from chimneys. Fick felt something relax in his shoulders. Whatever had happened, there were people here and somehow he would get answers to the _hows_ and _whys_ in his head.  
Talking about questions, Linn had been quiet the last twenty minutes but spoke now.  
"I'm sorry, what's your name?"  
"Nate. Nate Fick."  
"Nate. You see that house over there? That's our closest neighbor. And - maybe you should borrow my jacket."  
"Why?"  
"Because - well, you look like a soldier and my neighbor is quite curious. I thought maybe you don't want him to report that there's military people here."  
"True." He took the jacket and got his brains back online when he put the radio down. Whatever had happened, being interrogated by the Swedish Armed Forces wouldn't help. "That would be a disaster," he added, shivering once.  
She smiled apologetically. "Let's worry about that later. Just take the jacket. You'll look a little less like a soldier with it."  
"Thank you." He put it on, but was unable to zip it and didn't bother trying. "And Linn, don't call us soldiers. We're Marines."  
"There's a difference?"  
"Yes."  
"I'll keep it in mind."

She led him to the left where the track met a paved road. The first house they passed was a timber cottage painted red. It had white details on the porch and around the windows and it looked old. There were a newer garage and a garden with apple trees in front of it. On the opposite side of the road was a barn, also painted red.  
When they walked past, Fick felt his hand reach for his rifle before his mind reacted. Someone was standing in the window, looking at them. He couldn't make out any details but he knew that there was a person there and his body wanted to aim at the person until it had been cleared to be a friendly. Leaving the M16 with Wynn had been a smart move.  
"You alright?" Linn asked.  
"I think your neighbor saw us."  
"He probably did. He's quiet nosy. But here we are."  
The next farm was separated from the neighbor's lot by thirty yards of field and a fence. The dog was already waiting by a homemade gate. Beyond it was a lawn and four or five building of various sizes. Just like every other house seen so far, they were all red and made of timber. The biggest had tinned roof and looked like a stable or a barn. The smallest was fifteen or twenty feet long with only two black doors and a single small window on the gable wall.  
The main house on the other side of the lawn was not particularly big. It had a bigger porch than the nosy neighbor's house and a window on either side of it. On the second storey three windows faced the front. Behind the house was a ridge with fields and beyond that the forest.  
Linn opened the gate for the dog.  
"This way," she said and walked over the lawn to the opposite corner, past the main house.  
Behind a big lilac a smaller house appeared. It was built in an angle, with one gable facing the main house and the other the garden. In the corner between them was yet another porch on which the dog was lapping water from a bucket. Linn pushed it to the side and opened the door.  
"So this is where I'm staying, but we can open up the big house."  
She moved through the hall to the kitchen beyond it. Just as the houses the furniture looked antique and well used, but the actual kitchen seemed to have been installed sometime in the fifties. On the table was a slick laptop together with what looked like unfinished breakfast. Linn dumped the dishes in the sink, got a piece of wood for the stove and cleared the table from papers.  
"Have a seat," she said and indicated to a chair in front of the stove.  
To get there Fick had to walk around the table and he narrowly avoided tripping over the dog's bed.  
"You want tea or coffee?"  
He sank down in the chair and then realized he still had her jacket on. And a MOPP-suit filled with the filth of two weeks of war. His head spun.  
"Coffee, please." 

* * *

Colbert left Wynn chuckling in the command vehicle and moved over to One Bravo. The platoon around him was quiet. In the last fifteen hours the vibe had gone from total confusion into the resolute action all Marines are drilled into. But since Fick hade left it had changed again. The first hours had been about dealing with a situation the only way military personnel ever learned - by doing things. Gather intel, pass it on, make decisions, move and take action. Now their PC had confirmed that the sitauation was more than FUBAR. It was past imagination, and even though Wynn and the TLs were attempting to act like it was situation normal, the Marines knew. Colbert saw it in the eyes and moves of the people he passed. It was not despair - not yet - but the trust and confidence they had felt in themselves, in their platoon command and the men around them was suddenly not enough to make them believe that they would pull through.  
Ten days of battle in Humvees, commanded by Encino Man and side by side with Captain America didn't break them. But this could.  
Espera looked up from his seat and shook his head.  
"You think I can't seen what you're thinking, dawg, but I know what's going inside that head of yours."  
"Poke."  
"That glare might work on Person, dawg, but I know you. Relax."  
Colbert ignored his advice.  
"Anything to report?"  
"Gabe, you've got anything?" Espera called back to Garza without looking away from Colbert.  
"There's these birds, sergeant."  
Espera turned around.  
"What with the fucking birds?"  
"They're singing. But I can't figure out what kind of birds they are."  
Espera rolled his eyes.  
"See? This is what my guys worry about. Fucking wildlife."  
"Garza, anything to report?" Colbert demanded.  
"No, sergeant!"  
"Relax, Brad. There's nothing out there. I've seen all kinds of shit, both with the Corps and before that, but you know what I've never seen? A single chick walk up to twenty armed guys without looking scared or fucking angry. This is Sweden. Apparently there's nothing to be afraid of here. You and your lame ass stare are probably the most dangerous things in the country right now. Relax."  
"You could move over and join Mike," Colbert grumbled.  
"Get some shuteye, dawg. We're on fifty percent watch and you're not doing the watching. Dig a fucking grave and go to sleep." 


	5. Yeah, it looks pretty good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know when you scribbled down a few lines on a piece of paper? And then you put that paper in A Good Place (tm) for whenever you get to that part of the story.  
> Finally, you get there. And no matter how bad that writing was, you are sure that those lines were the ONLY way to frase that piece of dialogue. But, of course, you can't find the freaking paper.  
> It feels like there are multiple ways to go from there, but in reality it's only one: Face that your memory is ready for the retirement home and write it again. It will probably be better than the original writing anyway.
> 
> It just took me a couple of weeks to reach that conclusion. Sorry.

The coffee was brewed - _brewed!_ \- and Fick drank cup after cup until he had burns all over his throat. It helped the caffeine to kick in so he could get up from the chair again. She showed him around the houses, pointed out bedrooms and extra beds, even an outdoor bathtub. It was a beautiful place, red houses contrasting to green grass and trees that had a few yellow leaves coming.  
After the tour she led him back to the kitchen for lunch, frying eggs and bacon that made his olfaction cry. The rain had picked up when they were done eating and Fick braced himself for the walk back.  
"Are you sure you don't want a shower first?" she asked. "Or - I don't know - sleep for a while?"  
He must look dead on his feet. For half a second he was tempted. Just sit for a while longer, stretch out on the couch (or the kitchen bench, or _the floor_ ), close his eyes in something like a safe surrounding ... He would sleep for a week.  
But just like officers eat last, officers shower and sleep last, and his unit was waiting in the forest exactly as worn out and reeking as he was. He shook his head and got ready to get up.  
"You'd really open your home for us?" he asked. "Just like that, to twenty-four strangers with the most unbelievable story?"  
"You need somewhere to stay, and I've got room for you."  
"Would you do this for anyone?"  
"Look, Nate. I don't know what happened to you, but I know that if something like that happened to me I would be frightened enough without people just passing me by without caring."  
The Good Samaritan. She seemed sincere, she really did, but she didn't look him straight in the eye and his exhausted brain tried to catch what was left unsaid.  
He gave up. She was hardly a physical threat, and if they moved somewhere else she could just as well notify the authorities anyway. Better to humor her. And they really didn't have anywhere to go.

* * *

Fick was back.  
Person nudged Colbert awake for a team leader meeting, and Colbert did admit to himself that the feeling washing over him was relief. He staggered over to the HQ hood – the ground was covered by roots and stones now when they moved off the road – and watched Fick slap Patrick’s shoulder lightly.  
Less than twenty-four hours ago Fick had gathered them for another TL meeting. That time, Colbert had slept for one hour instead of two, and Fick had looked different. South of Al Muwaffaqiyah he had been composed even though it was clear he didn’t believe his own words. But when push came to shove he had given the order and they had been prepared to execute.  
And then all of this happened.  
Now they were here in the rain in a forest, still waiting for him to step up and tell them what to do.  
“Maps,” he started and handed out sheets. “They’re paper, so tug them away and look at this one.”  
“What scale is it?” Lovell asked.  
“It is photocopied from an original, and enlarged somewhat, so I don’t know. We’re here and the distance to the road here is about two klicks. This is the house we’re aiming for. Natural obstacles are the field of crops surrounding it on three sides – which we can’t drive through without leaving obvious tracks – and the creek in the south. We must enter from the west, and the only road passes this house.” He knocked on an open square next to the small line that indicated the road. “The neighbor is at home, nosy and a possible threat to our security. Getting past him, we make for the main entrance to the property by a simple gate on the far side of the biggest building. The victors can be staged indoors in the same building, but we have to clear out a motorboat and approximately ten bicycles. Once we get round the building we’re in a mostly enclosed property and mostly out of sight. We will be bunking in these three houses. The main obstacle is the neighbor. It wouldn’t be a problem if we left the Humvees behind, but that isn’t an option.”  
“How’s the ground?” Patrick asked. “We could cut the engines and push them.”  
“It’s gravel, so it wouldn’t be completely silent, but probably good enough.”  
“I don’t like ‘probably’,” Bryan muttered.  
“The alternative is to wait for him to leave. But no matter how much watch we pull out here, there is just a question of time until some other dog walker comes along, and there is no guarantee that the next person will act like Linn did. We can’t eliminate civilians, so we must get the Humvees out of the forest sooner or later.”  
“Preferable sooner,” Espera said.  
“Yes. So the plan is that Linn will contact us when the neighbor goes to bed and we will meet her at the edge of the forest here. A foot patrol will set up position to keep an eye on his house and we will push the victors past.”  
“And how are we to know when he goes to bed?” Colbert asked.  
“I left the radio with her. Now, brief your teams and get some rest. There will be dark around seven local time, and he will hopefully go to bed before midnight. Get some rest.”

* * *

“Hello?” There was a short pause. “This – Hi, this is Linn.”  
“Hi Linn, this is the strangers in the wood.”  
“What?”  
Colbert glared at Person.  
“Radio protocol, Person”, Fick sighed.  
“With her? You want me to use call signs too?”  
“Don’t confuse the civilian”, Colbert ordered.  
“I’m trying not to! Hi Linn, we’re here.”  
“Can you hear me?”  
“Yes, you’re coming in loud and clear.”  
“I just wanted to say that – eh – my neighbor went to bed twenty minutes ago and there are no lights in his bedroom now.”  
Person looked to Fick for instructions.  
“All right, tell her that we’ll bring the victors up and a foot patrol will meet her at the established point for rendezvous.”  
Person gave him a look.  
“I’ll editorialize that a bit, sir.” 


	6. We're on the road, boys!

The lines of Humvees stood quietly where the road from the forest met the gravel road. Espera had brought his team over to push the more than five thousand pound heavy Victor 1. Team Two had taken up position behind them. Sergeant Baptista was waiting outside of his vehicle as the rest of his team was setting up positions along the gravel road under Fick’s supervision. Everyone waited in silence, under a dark sky with clouds painted white by the setting moon.  
Well, everyone except one.  
“Person.” Colbert didn’t really snap. He just said it while keeping his gaze ahead, watching the shadows in front of him where he was standing next to the vehicle, ready to push. In the driver seat, and looking over the wheel in his NVGs, sat Person.  
“Are we ready to go?” he asked.  
“No. You’re singing.”  
“Yes, I am! _Superstition. Very superstitious, writings on the wall … Vey superstitious, ladders ‘bout to fall …_ ”  
Colbert tried to ignore him, but it led to an unrequested and unwanted explanation anyway.  
“I’ve got to entertain myself somehow. This could be my last chance to sing in freedom. If we’re caught tonight, I will cherish this last moment with Stevie Wonder. The Swedish Army will probably torture us with ABBA until we go all _Super Trouper_ rock crazy.” He paused for less than a tenth of a second to think, but kept talking before Colbert could interfere. "Honestly Brad, what do you think of the Swedes? Aren’t they pussies, all of them? I mean, how dangerous can you be when you follow every article in the Geneva Convention to the fucking letter?”  
Colbert tore his eyes of the moving shadows:  
“If we’re compromised because you fail the shut the fuck up, you don’t have to worry about the interrogation techniques of the Swedish Armed Forces, I assure you. You will be dead, Corporal, because I will kill you myself with as much pain as time allows.”  
“I’m only trying to cheer you –“  
“You’re still talking.”

At exactly 0105 Fick gave the orders to move Colbert’s Humvee up on the gravel road and the five hundred meters of crucial distance before the safety in the yard of the house at the end of the road. Feet rasped over loose stones as three tons of military vehicle and materiel slowly advanced towards the inhabited buildings.

Fick stood positioned by the garage in the Nosy Neighbor’s garden. Lovell and Bryan were over by the barn on the other side of the road. Somewhere in the hedge on the backside of the house lied Stinetorf and Holsey. They had crawled there and now they were watching for any kind of movements through the bedroom window.  
Team 1 were closing in.  
To Fick’s ears, the sound of six Marines pushing a Humvee was as loud as a jet flying over your head, and even though he had made up his mind to follow through on this plan, that same mind was now constantly worrying to make up satisfactory action plans for when this went wrong. But he knew that there were none.  
If the man woke up, there was nothing to be done. They couldn’t kill him (and for a moment Fick realized what kind of person that line of thought meant he had become, before he shoved it away and went on with the planning). There was no guarantee that the man would believe their story if they had to confront him. The only thing Fick could do was to order Person to start the vehicle, turn right back and make for the forest again, and try to stay unnoticed until – well, until forever? Or until they were out of MREs. Or until they found someone else ready to help them. There must be an American embassy somewhere …  
He forced his mind back to the task on hand. An okay plan now is better than a perfect plan later, he’d been taught, but he wondered absentmindedly if the stakes really should be like this.  
Colbert’s Humvee was now passing the first apple trees in the garden. Colbert himself was pushing on the right side of the truck, doing as much of observation as of actual shoving. Person was steering and even Reporter had joined in, putting his shoulder to the metal.  
For every step they made it without any alarm from Stinetorf and Holsey Fick felt his heart race rather than slow down. After what his watch told him to be 6.5 minutes but felt like a decade, Person steered the Humvee up to the gate on Linn’s lot and it disappeared around the biggest building. Fick felt relived for a second, but pushed it back. _One down, four to go._ He gave Patrick the go ahead.  
Less than two minutes later, the dog started barking.

Brunmeier was in Team Two’s driver’s seat, and his eyes as well as everyone else’s went to the windows.  
Over at Linn’s, Trombley opened his mouth.  
“We should’ve – “  
“Shut the fuck up, Trombley!” Colbert cursed between clenched teeth.  
“But you’re thinking it too, sergeant. I know.”  
“Lance Corporal, I would never consider euthanizing this lonely woman’s only companion.”  
“You know she’s got a fiancée, right, Brad?” Person asked.  
“Person, do I have to start to worry my mind over the memory capacity of your brain. What did I tell you?”


End file.
